


Chain Me to the Wall

by HipHopAnonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, Locked up in the Bastille, Other, Over the Knee, Penis In Vagina Sex, Period-Typical Cissexism (potentially transphobic line warning), Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 19:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20314783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipHopAnonymous/pseuds/HipHopAnonymous
Summary: What kind of an angel gets himself locked up in the Bastille during a revolution? A very naughty one.Crowley can hardly believe Aziraphale would be so brazen and so stupid. And all for some naive attempt at flirtation. The demon will just have to take the angel in hand to teach him a very thorough lesson about tempting danger.But perhaps the angel isn't quite so naive after all.





	Chain Me to the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Please be warned that there is a potentially transphobic line in this fic in which female anatomy is referred to as a "woman's." However, this line is not meant to show transphobia of the characters, but is merely a flippant sex comment that is immediately clarified by Aziraphale who is a male-presenting angel with an vulva here.

“If my people hear I rescued an angel, I’ll be the one in trouble, and _my lot_ do not send rude notes,” Crowley said, eyebrows raised meaningfully as he moved towards Aziraphale.

The angel licked his lips and pretended to be absorbed in rubbing the chafe where his wrists had been recently manacled. “O-oh, really? Is that so?”

Crowley snorted, “Uh, yeah. It’s Hell, isn’t it? What d’you expect? A demerit? A slap on the wrist? They’re all about _real_ punishment down there, Angel.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks pinkened, and he nodded. He was acting strange, furtive, refusing to meet Crowley’s eye.

“I see,” he said. “Like, um, what exactly?”

Crowley furrowed his brow. “What _what_?”

The angel’s face reddened now. “I just mean … what _does_ Hell do for punishment? If a demon were to get into trouble? I’ve always wondered, you know,” he needlessly adjusted his absurdly pompous clothing, babbling on, “_You_ risk Hell’s ire all the time, after all, so it makes me, oh, I don’t know, _curious_ what’s really at stake. I mean, when you make implications like that without ever really telling me the details …”

“All right, all right!” Crowley interrupted the deluge of prattle. He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking, more than a bit confused by the direction this conversation had taken. “I don’t know. I suppose the usual stuff for minor infractions. Fire, spikes, the rack. Flaming rods or whips.”

“Oh my,” Aziraphale breathed, biting his lip. “S-so, they might, er, beat you, then?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and studied the angel. He could swear Aziraphale was _squirming_. “Oh, sure, of course - that’s very common.”

Aziraphale nodded, quite pink to his ears now, and he _still_ wouldn’t look Crowley in the eye. “Hmm, interesting. Well, I’ve been reading, you know. I don’t suppose you’ve read anything by the Marquis de Sade? I was actually thinking that perhaps he’s under your lot’s influence. Been writing some terribly strange and _interesting_ things … why, he even penned some of them right here in the Bastille!” Aziraphale was flushed, fidgetty, nervous.

“Sounds vaguely familiar …” Crowley hedged. _Of course_ he knew about the bloody Marquis de Sade. Hell was thrilled. He was one of Hastur’s. Or Ligur’s. Crowley hadn’t been paying close attention at that particular meeting. But the two of them always liked to hone in on corrupting one human at a time, and the antics of one Monsieur Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade were just more of the same, really. “Sadism” they were calling it, claiming it was going to stick. The gears in Crowley’s brain started to turn with the implications of Aziraphale, of all beings, bringing this up.

“Well, anyway, nevermind!” Aziraphale waved his hand and gave a very unnatural chuckle. “Good thing I’m not a demon, though, I suppose. I’d probably find myself in an awful lot of trouble … “ he looked away, muttering to himself, “Probably would need someone to teach me a lesson …”

All of this nonsense suddenly clicked into place and Crowley’s anger flared. Did Aziraphale really charge headfirst into danger in order to _flirt_? Crepes and Brioche his _arse_. He was beginning to regret all those times he’d let the angel do temptations on Crowley’s behalf, because if this was any indication of his skill, then he was, quite frankly, terrible at it. Crowley had never seen more conspicuous and awkward fishing in his life.

Crowley grimaced, ire growing as he watched Aziraphale oh-so-casually examine his fingernails. _Look at him, standing there in all those overstuffed, fussy ruffles. Needlessly putting himself in harm’s way just to get my attention._ Crowley wondered just how far the angel had been willing to go for this little charade.

So the angel wanted a little Marquis de Sade, did he? Curious about Hell’s punishments? What a naughty little cherub, far too curious for his own good. Oh, Crowley was going to spank the Hell out of him!

Crowley crossed his arms. “I don’t suppose you’ll be getting any ‘sternly worded letters’ about this little debacle, right? Thankssss to me. Doesn’t seem fair, does it, Angel?”

Aziraphale swallowed hard, giving Crowley a furtive glance. “No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

Crowley snapped his fingers upwards and in an instant the cuffs were back on Aziraphale’s wrists, chaining him up again. The angel gasped. Another snap and the elaborate coat, waistcoat, and breeches were gone. Aziraphale stood in nothing but a long shirt, shoes, and stockings buckled at garters just above his knees. He gave a nervous glance toward the guard, still frozen in place. He then gave Crowley an indignant pout.

“Crowley! What the Hell did you do with my lovely clothes?”

“You’re in need of discipline, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, cupping the back of Aziraphale’s neck as he sat on the stool. He pulled the angel down over his lap as he said, “If I were you, I’d worry more about my own hide than those silly clothes. I can’t punish you with all those ridiculous layers in the way of your naughty bottom.”

“Oh, really, Crowley … ” Aziraphale fussed, though he sounded rather breathless. He wriggled awkwardly as he tried to adjust across the demon’s slender thighs.

“Yes, really,” Crowley said, roughly assisting the angel into the desired position. The chains of the manacles clinked against the ground as the angel was scooched and tilted until his bottom was higher than his head, toes and fingers touching the cold stone floor. Crowley slid the linen shirt up his back, revealing his lily white posterior.

Crowley ran his index finger in gentle circles over the exposed, quivering flesh, goosepimples rising in its wake. He licked his lips. Aziraphale’s buttocks were looking particularly plump. Maybe there had been _some_ truth to the quest for crepes and brioche, after all. Crowley had always found Aziraphale’s roundness appealing. He was so soft, thick, and supple, with skin like porcelain. The angel thought he wanted Hell’s wrath? The Marquis de Sade? Crowley could have laughed. No, the sweet little angel just needed his round, naughty bottom soundly smacked.

“You look very fetching like this, Angel. The stocking garters are a nice touch.”

Aziraphale squirmed, “Is this _really_ necessary?”

Crowley’s open palm made stinging contact with Aziraphale’s right buttock, and the skin rippled as a pink handprint bloomed on the pale surface.

“You said yourself that _someone_ ought to teach you a lesson,” Crowley spanked him on the left cheek this time, leaving a twin pink handprint.

“Oh!” Aziraphale stiffened.

Crowley spanked him again. And again. And again. Each smack a loud clap echoing off the stone walls of the cell.

“Oh, Oh! Ow!” Aziraphale bucked and squirmed over Crowley’s lap. “Oh! Wait. Wait! That hurts! It’s too much! I’m sorry! I take it all back!”

The demon didn’t relent, but continued delivering burning smacks to the angel’s naked bottom.

“It’s supposed to hurt!” Crowley’s annoyance flared, and he spanked even harder, his red handprints merging into a uniform shade across the expanse of Aziraphale’s wide buttocks.

So Aziraphale thought he could coyly goad - no, _tempt_ a demon and then complain when the follow-through was more than he could take? What a brat. What a little tease. The angel had tried to go head to head against a demon in a dangerous game and lost. The thought spurred a _sadistic_ lust in Crowley, igniting the demonic spark of wickedness that lay deep within his being. He didn’t hold back as he spanked the flailing angel over his knee.

Quite frankly, Aziraphale was _damned_ lucky that the demon in question was Crowley and not some actual evil fucker who would trick and truly _hurt_ the angel. His Angel. Sweet, pliant, trusting, kind Aziraphale. Full of love and so willing to open his lips and spread his legs to find pleasure with Crowley - hereditary enemies or not.

Thank Go - thank _someone_ it had been Crowley who ended up on Earth with Aziraphale. Crowley, who was smitten from day one, who loved the angel, and not some _other_ demon. It could have so easily been someone else, and his poor angel would have been at terrible risk. The idea terrified and enraged Crowley. Yes, Aziraphale definitely needed to learn a lesson about caution and using better judgment. A lesson that would be imparted by brutal, stinging smacks to his bare bottom.

“Don’t go looking for trouble, you little idiot!” Crowley hissed, the lecture feeling surprisingly natural. “Someday you'll find it and I might not be there to save you!”

It was a ruthless spanking. Crowley’s palm rained down smack after smack at breakneck pace. Aziraphale was having trouble catching his breath, desperately wriggling, drumming his silly shiny little shoes against the ground, and wailing in between desperate pleas and protests. The chains clanged against the ground with the angel’s frantic struggling, but kept his hands well out of the way of Crowley’s target - two corpulent angel buttocks in need of sound discipline.

Aziraphale’s formerly pale bottom was turning quite scarlet, and Crowley had already used a demonic miracle to ease the sting in his hand to keep up the brutal pace. He spanked the back of the angel’s ample thighs, earning some particularly high pitched howls. He was viciously thorough with the tender skin just below the buttocks, and the angel nearly bucked off his lap at the onslaught.

“It’s too much, Crowley, really! Please!” Aziraphale cried, voice wet with honest to goodness tears.

Crowley paused, swayed momentarily by the tears. He was a soft touch for a demon, after all. He rubbed his hand gently over the angel’s inflamed buttocks, steeling himself for the grand finale.

“Ah, but Angel, you _wanted_ thissssss, didn't you?” He gave him two sharp smacks and Aziraphale yelped. “Charging headfirst into danger!” _Spank_. “Yammering on about the Marquis de fucking Sade!” _Spank_. “No, Angel, there will be no wiggling out of this one." _Spank_. "No big, sad angel eyes." _Spank._ "No little pouts." _Spank._ "I mean to teach you a lesson and see you _thoroughly_ spanked!"

Crowley finished out the spanking, ignoring Aziraphale’s pitiful howls, lighting a blazing fire in the angel’s behind, and ensuring the lesson wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

Finally, it was over, and Aziraphale’s body sagged, quivering with quiet snivels. Crowley patted his back, heart aching a bit. His cock, however, ached far more, demanding attention. Throughout the spanking, he had been trying (and failing miserably) to ignore Aziraphale's chubby little cunt. The little pink treasure, dusted by a fine layer of flaxen curls, kept peeking out between his thighs amidst all the writhing and kicking, and it had gotten too hard to ignore. It being Crowley's cock, of course.

“All right, Angel, up you get.”

He helped Aziraphale to unsteady feet. The angel was wrecked and rumpled, cravat hanging loose around his neck, pink, tear-stained cheeks, hair mussed and sweaty. Crowley magicked the chain to tighten and pull Aziraphale by his manacled wrists. It forced him to walk towards and then press up against the stone wall, and kept on pulling until his arms were held taut above his head. Crowley came up behind him, lifting the angel’s shirt up and placing a hand on the warm skin of his red hot bottom.

Aziraphale whimpered and flinched in expectation of more spanking.

“Better it’s me, Angel,” Crowley said. He gave the angel’s thoroughly spanked buttocks a gentle pat instead of another spank, and Aziraphale released a shuddering, relieved breath. “Better someone who loves your stupid, naughty little arse and not someone who would ruin you.”

“Please, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, glancing back over his shoulder with half-lidded eyes. "_Ruin me_.”

The demon very nearly ruined his trousers.

“Oh, _fuck_, Angel!”

With a growl, Crowley grabbed and pulled Aziraphale’s hips backwards, giving the chains some slack to allow it. The angel stepped back, placing his hands against the stone wall and sticking his bottom out with a wiggle. Crowley kneaded at the punished flesh, appreciating his work. His _cock_ was certainly appreciating it. He dug his fingers into the angel’s corpulent thighs, then groped his pudgy buttocks and spread him wide open, mouth watering at the sight.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said with some embarrassment and obvious protest at the inconsiderate treatment of his tender backside.

“You wanted my attention, didn’t you? I know you got arrested on purpose - you aren’t that stupid, Angel. What did you think would happen? Prancing around the streets of Paris during a revolution dressed like that? Tarted up like a spoiled little princess?”

“These are _men’s_ clothes!” the angel groused, completely beside the point.

“Aye, and a woman’s cunt, I see!” said Crowley, finally giving in to temptation and cupping his hand between the angel’s legs. He fondled gently between the chubby folds, and his fingers came away quite slick.

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open with a moan, and he gasped out, “No! No, ‘s’not. It’s an _Angel’s_ c-cunt. It's _mine_,” he whimpered as Crowley's cunt-slick fingers found his little nub and began pressing small circles against it. "Not some human woman ... thing ... just _my effort_."

Crowley chuckled, “Quite so. Well, don’t think I haven’t been eyeing this pretty little _Angel cunt_ from the start. Why do you always insist on this sort of _effort_ anyway?” _To drive me mad, surely._ His cock twitched eagerly at the thought.

Aziraphale was beginning to breathe heavily, “The style of clothing can be ... very fitted. A c-cock would be … rather _obscene_ …”

“And your sopping cunny isn’t _obscene_, Angel?” Crowley slid two fingers inside Aziraphale with ease and the angel made a high pitched sound, knees buckling when those fingers began to thrust. Crowley caught Aziraphale around the waist, keeping him upright. “Ah, ah, Angel. I’m going to need you to stay up so I can give you a proper fuck.”

“Oh, _good Lord_, Crowley!”

“But first,” after the demon was sure the angel could stay upright, he dropped to his knees and urged Aziraphale to widen his stance. “I’m going to tasssste you.”

Crowley spread Aziraphale open with his thumbs, and pressed his face between the angel’s spanked-swollen buttocks. He was more than happy to bury his face in the Angel’s plump arse (he didn’t need to breathe, after all). A normal human man wouldn’t have been able to properly eat a pussy in this position, but Crowley’s serpent tongue was a marvel. The forked muscle slid across the angel’s damp slit, easily reaching to flick and tease at his clit. Crowley didn’t even have to cramp his neck. And that was just the start. He could do some _really_ weird things with his tongue, much to the angel’s satisfaction.

“What a ssssweet, deliciousss little queynte you have, Angel,” Crowley hissed between decadent laps of his tongue, nipping with his sharp, pointed teeth at the tender flesh of Aziraphale’s punished bottom. The angel mewled.

It didn’t take long. Aziraphale’s legs shook, and he made some very high pitched moans when he came. Crowley stepped back, wiped the slick from his face, and gazed lustfully at his angel - sagging against his chained wrists, legs spread, cunt glistening, and well-spanked buttocks thrust out and practically glowing red.

“You know what I think, Angel? I think you choose a nice little cunt for the _overindulgence_ of it. I could keep wringing _petite mort_ after _petite mort_ out of you until you beg for mercy. Some day, I might, you gluttonous thing, but right now I need to fuck you.”

Aziraphale answered with a moan that sounded like he would very much enjoy any and all of that, and gave his rump an enticing little wiggle. Crowley grinned despite himself. Such a dangerous invitation for a chained up angel to give the demon who had just spanked the daylights out of him. _Incorrigible._

Crowley hastily unfastened his trousers and freed his erection. “You just have no sense at all, do you, Aziraphale?” He gripped the angel’s hips roughly and pulled his arse against his groin. He paid no mind to the angel’s whine from the rough treatment of his sore, bruised bottom. He leaned forward and whispered into Aziraphale’s ear, “I’m going to _ravish_ you now.”

It had been since _Hamlet._ Aziraphale had been so tickled with the success of the play that they'd enthusiastically made the beast with two backs in celebration. Crowley's current effort was also much larger than it had been then. Giving purposefully little consideration to these facts, Crowley now pushed his entire length inside the angel in one thrust, grinning rather demonically when Aziraphale squealed at being so thoroughly _filled_. 

Crowley proceeded to fuck Aziraphale in the same way he had spanked him - hard, relentless, and exactly how the angel really wanted it, Crowley suddenly realized. _That sly, sneaky, depraved little bastard._ He’d played the demon like a golden fiddle. It turned out, his angel wasn't so bad at temptation, after all.

Crowley couldn’t even muster a token annoyance at being so expertly manipulated. On the contrary, gaining a full understanding of the angel’s proclivities - if not shockingly depraved then at the very least terribly _naughty_ \- only fueled the demon's lust.

With every snap of Crowley’s hips, Aziraphale moaned in ecstasy, the chains clanging against the stone wall with his movements. Crowley reached a hand around Aziraphale’s hip to touch him. All it took were a few flicks and the angel shuddered and gasped, his slick sheath pulsing, throbbing and squeezing the answering orgasm out of the demon's cock. Crowley filled the angel with enthusiasm, hugging the soft, ample body against his own slender one, while the waves of pleasure washed over him.

Panting and trembling, they were reluctant to separate, but Crowley soon softened, slipping out as they both sighed at the loss. Crowley carefully freed the angel from the manacles, and then pressed kisses to his bruised wrists before pulling him into a tender embrace.

Aziraphale nuzzled against his cheek and murmured, “Crowley, my dear …” They hadn’t kissed at all, Crowley thought suddenly. And then they were. Sweet and gentle since they’d already gorged themselves on each other. It was in Aziraphale's nature to _relish_ in humanly pleasures, and Crowley had apparently catered to his whims yet again.

_Selfish, naughty, spoiled angel._ He ran a hand down Aziraphale’s back and then gave his bottom a little pinch. The angel made a very unrefined squeak, pulling away.

“Careful! It’s still _very_ sore!” Aziraphale had the gall to _pout_ as though he had nothing to do with the current state of his backside.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Angel, if this was really what you wanted, and I think it was, then you could have just _asked_!”

“Oh, but …” Aziraphale’s hazel eyes sparkled, “But it's not as _f__un_!”

“Fun!? You’ve got to be … I can’t believe … I should take you over my knee again right now!”

Aziraphale darted out of reach, putting his hands up in surrender and smiling. “I’m sorry, my dear! Really!”

_No, you’re really not. _But Crowley couldn't be angry, the corners of his lips were already twitching as he tried to stifle a grin.

The angel continued, “Well, I really am very grateful … for the, er, rescue. What about if I buy you lunch?”

“Looking like that?” Crowley raised his eyebrows.

Aziraphale gave him a _look_ and sighed, flourishing a miracle that cleaned up any errant emissions, and put him in commoner clothes and the executioner in Aziraphale’s own aristocratic garb - prior to the debauchment, of course.

Crowley gaped at him. Unbelievable! A miracle? Just like that? After all that fuss? He really was incorrigible.

“Well, it barely counts as a miracle, really,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shook his head and restarted time. They watched impassively as the executioner was led away to his doom. He wasn’t a very nice man, after all.

“Dressed like that, he’s asking for trouble,” Crowley said pointedly. Aziraphale smirked and quite possibly blushed. Any lingering annoyance Crowley may have had for his angel had long since dissipated and he asked, “What’s for lunch?”

“What would you say to some Crepes?”

As they walked down the street, Aziraphale gave his bottom a rueful rub. “These drab trousers are _rough_ you know. Why does the fabric have to be so coarse?”

“It wouldn’t be bothering you if you hadn’t just gotten yourself spanked, Angel.”

Aziraphale flushed, looking around nervously. “Tell the whole world, why don’t you!”

“Oh, no one heard,” Crowley said, linking their arms. “And most of them don’t speak English anyway.”

“Well, still! Oh, I’m really going to be feeling this when we sit down for lunch …” his cheeks were rather pink.

Crowley loved the idea of watching Aziraphale squirm through crepes, but he worried briefly if he’d been a bit _too_ harsh. The angel’s bottom _was_ quite scalded and bruised. “I could heal it, Angel,” he tried to look somewhat stern and added, “Even if you don’t really deserve it.”

“Oh, no! Don’t!” Aziraphale said. “I wasn’t really complaining. I just can’t stop _thinking_ about it. It’s going to feel _delightful_!” The angel gave a little wiggle. "I may even be up for some more _petite morts_ after we eat," he gave the demon a sly look. "If you're amenable."

Crowley's eyes widened and then he barked out a laugh. Of course, the angel was like this. Insatiable. Naughty. Tempting. Lovely. _God, or Satan, or Somebody help me!_

**Author's Note:**

> Re: The Title
> 
> I couldn't help but think of [this part](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_IsiCmI-n0&feature=youtu.be&t=67) from Disney's Oliver and Company while writing this!
> 
>   
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> 
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